Were it not that I have bad dreams
by L.Wilson
Summary: Dean dreams about Cas and talks it through with Sam. Warm brotherly moments, implied Destiel eyesex, etc. Set around/after episode two of season seven. Title comes from Hamlet.


Dean shifted on the bed, trying desperately to cling on to the faulty sleep he was rapidly falling out of. He opened one eye, then the other, watching the gloomy three am of the motel room come into focus. The buttons of Castiel's jacket were cold against his face, and after holding them there for a moment he looked over to the other bed. Sam was still fast asleep, as far as he could tell. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about it, or didn't want Sam to know about how much that damn coat meant to him – he just didn't want Sam to know _yet_. His feelings about this matter with Castiel (or whoever he was now) – his feelings about everything – were complicated enough to himself and he didn't want Sam in until he'd figured some things out for himself. Not to mention that Sam was damaged enough as it is. He sighed as he watched Sam, listening to his heavy breathing. Before, in the very back of his mind he used to dream of an 'eventually' where they'd finally be done, finally have conquered whatever needed conquering. They could actually have a home outside the Impala and whatever motel was convenient, and Cas would come over for dinner and they'd act like old ladies at book club and no one would give a damn. He knew this was nothing more than a bitterly amusing dream, but he felt justified in, after everything, seeking a little comfort in whatever nonsense he could come up with.

He turned around to face the wall, instead of his brother, and received the startling of his life (and _that _was saying something) when a hand pressed itself to his mouth to stifle any awkward yelling noises he may or may not have made and he looked up to meet Castiel's eyes.

"You don't want to wake Sam, Dean," he said, as plainly as ever.

"Cas! What the hell?" Words like "you," "God," and "leviathan" were tossed around in some nonsense he spluttered out before something struck him: "Cas, this is a dream, isn't it?"

Castiel didn't say anything, but the look he gave Dean told him everything.

"I miss you," he said eventually, watching Castiel, wondering if he should offer to return his jacket because he just looked strange without it.

For a man – angel – once so stumped by the basic expressions of communication, Castiel was painfully good at communicating through looks now. And for a man once so confident in these areas, Dean was painfully reluctant to do anything at this point. Not to mention that Dean (and everything) was messed up enough as it was even before Castiel came back. And Castiel was actually a dream anyways.

"I miss you," he said again as Castiel brought his hand up to rest on the spot where, years before, it had dragged Dean back from hell. "We need you back, me, and Sam, and everyone. I don't know what to do, he's falling apart, Cas... And so am I."

"I'm sorry," said Castiel, somewhat flatly, but Dean knew he meant it. "And I'm sorry that you blame me."

Dean sat upright, pushing Castiel's hand away and looking him in the eye. "God damn it, Cas, it's not like that." Well, it was, at least a little bit, Cas certainly didn't have to go all "I'm God" on their asses but at this point he was more than ready to forgive Cas and anyways, this was just a dream. Still, it angered him that Castiel in _any _plane of reality didn't realize that Dean Winchester would always forgive him. Castiel was a weakness of his in this way, like Sam but in different ways that he didn't quite understand.

"I became God, and then left your brother with hell pushing through into his mind, and you with a hole in your heart. That's the nice version of it. Dean..."

The look Castiel gave him was full of that longing and anguish that he knew so well. Part of him wanted to punch Cas in the face for being an idiot, for becoming God and destroying himself and leaving them, for everything confusing he'd put Dean through. And part of him just wanted to hug Cas for lots of reasons that he couldn't quite make out, and pray for him to still be out there somewhere beyond dreams (if 'pray' was the appropriate word).

Castiel pressed his hand to Dean's arm once more, and then he was gone. Dean opened his eyes and, instinctively, reached for Castiel's jacket on the bed beside him, like a child reaching for their favourite toy, except that this was a thousand times darker and sadder and more grown-up. His arm hurt.

"You alright there, Dean?" Sam's voice was surprisingly comforting, coming from behind Dean. "Bad dream?"

"No..." replied Dean, more to himself than to Sam. He turned over and sat up at the edge of the bed, facing Sam's, and looked at his brother. At the moment, Sam was definitely the more collected of the two of them – definitely not recognizable as the one with Lucifer pushing through his mind. "It was Cas."

"You dreamt about Cas?" asked Sam as gently as he could, trying not to imply anything, at all, ever, though he couldn't help his eyes from wandering over to the overcoat still clutched in Dean's hand.

Dean saw where Sam was looking, and edged the coat a little bit more behind his back. "Yeah, I dreamt about Cas. Sammy he can't be dead, he can't be gone. This has to mean something."

Sam knew very well that this was not the time to explain what it meant. "I don't know, Dean. I'm the one who has messed-up dreams like this, remember? I just don't want to get your hopes up. I know how hard this is."

"Do you? You're not the one with the brother being stalked by Lucifer." He wasn't angry with Sam, he really wasn't, he was just upset by the thing with Cas and there was no one else to take it out on. "And Cas..."

"Cas was my friend too," said Sam softly.

It took all Dean had not to glare at his brother. Instead, he sighed and rested his head in his hands, suddenly weary, ignoring everything that was his brother and feeling mildly bad about it.

"I know how tough this is, Dean," Sam continued, an imploring tone beginning to creep up in his voice. "I lost Jessica, remember? I know what this is like."

"Don't talk about him like that," came Dean's voice from somewhere within his hands and headache. "Like he's dead."

The last part of that statement wasn't exactly what Sam had been expecting, but if Dean was on his own ready to be just a bit more open with him, then maybe that was a good sign (for once).

"Sorry Dean."

"Hey Sammy?" Dean pulled the coat out and looked over it before looking up at Sam. "We're going to win this thing. We're going to get Cas back, and we're going to fix you, and then we're going to kick some ass."

Sam smiled; Idealism Dean didn't show up very often these days, but he was kind of nice to be around. "We're going to fix you, too," he said.


End file.
